


Sometimes

by Red7s



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:40:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23677780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red7s/pseuds/Red7s
Summary: He likes to sing to the birds in his yard. He's happy when they sing back. Everything is gray when they don't.
Kudos: 3





	Sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this about a year ago after I had a bad day. Hope you all enjoy it!

He likes to sing to the birds that land in his yard every morning. The rest of the day depends on whether or not they sing back. 

Sometimes they do, and it’s this small pleasure that gets him through the day. But sometimes they don’t, and then everything feels empty, tastes bland, looks grey.

It’s no fault of his own that they don’t sing back, nor the fault of the birds for that matter. He knows this. But he’s been living alone for years now, and the birds not singing back reminds him of the texts unanswered, the calls ended before the second ring ends, the letters returned unopened.

He believes it’s his fault, but he doesn’t remember why. He has no idea anymore what it is that he did, if he did anything to begin with, but he knows that it’s why nobody he cares about wants to talk to him anymore.

He likes to follow them anyway, see what they’re up to. His sister got married last year, and she’s six months pregnant with a boy. She’s the one that always leaves his texts on read.

His stepfather followed in his father’s footsteps, dying last week from a heart attack. It’s a gray day when he finds out, so he feels nothing.

His mom is already dating someone new. This doesn’t surprise him; they never loved each other anyway. Not really. She returns his letter unopened.

His brother has graduated college, and has a boyfriend. He’s not upset that his brother never came out to him, he suspected for years. He hangs up before the phone rings more than two times.

It’s times like this that he remembers again why he left: he finally gave up. He realized the glue he tried to hold them together with was too weak to stay. He was too weak to stay. He couldn’t anymore. The last words he shared with his family were filled with disappointment, with sadness, with rage. But he’s not ready to go back, not yet.

His friend, his only friend, told him to start with small things that make him feel nice, and work up from there.

One day, he hopes that singing will make him happy regardless of whether or not the birds sing back. But he’s not there yet, and he’s coming to realize that that’s okay.  
Sometimes the birds sing to him, and it’s this small pleasure that gets him through the day. Sometimes they don’t, and one day he’ll take joy in simply watching them fly away into the bright morning sky...some of them stay in the houses he builds, and he hopes that his family will stay with him too, when they’re ready.


End file.
